


Questions for Answers

by Orockthro



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Gen, Will gets some things wrong, outside pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-11-30 00:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orockthro/pseuds/Orockthro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will started a list.</p><p>Harold had a big dog.<br/>The big dog stayed with his friend.<br/>Harold didn't live in his brownstone.</p><p>(Or, Will sees more than Harold anticipates)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Questions for Answers

**October 14th**

****

Will was a busy young man. He'd carefully engineered his schedule with the fervor that he’d engineered the rest of his life. Twenty minute lunches, twenty minute power naps, and he could change the world. And it was "the world" he wanted to change, not just New York.

But New York was where Will kept finding himself. This time it was ostensibly to conclude the sale of his father's house, but there was no reason he had to be there in person. Thanks to his father and his estate, he had lawyers aplenty to take care of mundane details like that. And yet there he stood in jeans and a blazer on the corner of his father's house in Manhattan, luggage tag from Moscow to New York still on his backpack. It looked different. Real estate stagers had come and gone since he'd picked up the box of possessions he'd felt inclined to keep. He peered through the window now lined with high quality, in-glass blinds. A plush couch, a long oval mahogany dining table. A TV and a library with generic books stacked up next to stock ordered knick knacks. It looked like a family could live there and less like the hollow shell of a building he remembered.

"I didn't know you were back in town, Will."

And that was the other reason he'd felt the urge to get on the plane to New York. Uncle Harold stood on the corner street looking perfectly pressed in his three piece suit and smiling. He limped forward with the quiet physical determination that Will had grown accustomed to and closed the distance between them.

"Uncle Harold!" Will pulled the older man into a hug. His uncle smelled like leather polish and wet wool.

It was misting and the weather was slowly pulling itself towards a true rain but Will and Harold stood their ground outside the stone steps with their backs to the street. "I hope everything is alright in the rest of the world now that New York is depriving it of you." Will didn’t miss the longing. His uncle was lonely.

Will sent his uncle a sidelong look. "I'm not back for good, Uncle Harold. Just... wanted to see the place before it sold I guess. Sentimental of me, I know." It was only half a lie, Will told himself. He did want to see the place after all.

His uncle lifted his chin a fraction of an inch. Rain water began to darken the collar of his suit, peaking out from under his coat. "Sentimental indeed. Very unlike you, Will."

And then the moment was broken by a dog barking. Will spun and was nearly blown over as a very excited, large, and intent looking sheppard tore past him. He instinctively grabbed his uncle's elbow as visions of him knocked over and landing on his damaged back flooded his mind. Except the dog stopped in front of Harold and looked up at him, expectantly. A leash dangled from its neck. "Hello Bear," he heard his uncle say.

"I may not be overly sentimental, but I definitely don't remember you being a dog person."

"Yes, well, Bear is a recent aquisition. And not at all my fault." And then before Will could say something like 'you sly dog, who’s the lady,' or, 'so this is how you always track down where I am when I'm in town,' his Uncle broke into a smile that was frankly forced. "It's not every day you're in town, Will. Dinner, tonight, my treat. That sushi place you like. I'll send a car around 7."  

Harold and the now shockingly well-behaved dog disappeared around the corner headed towards the park. Will looked at his watch. His timex read seven minutes to two on the digital read out. He had things to do, lawyers to pay, but Alicia Corwin’s murder sang in his mind. There was something going on, something to do with his father’s business that wasn't as clear cut as uncle Harold thought.

Will followed his uncle as he threaded through the thick crowds, careful to stay a block or two behind the lurching figure. He wasn’t too worried about his uncle spotting him, but the dog looked a little too alert. Harold took side streets and weaved back and forth through the urban jungle, backtracking and turning at nearly every intersection before finally ducking into a dog park. Will hung back even farther without the clumps of people to hide him. His uncle abandoned his meanderings and made a beeline for a tall, handsome man in a classy black suit sitting on a park bench. He was too far away to hear anything either man said, but clearly they knew each other and conversation, which didn't come easily to his uncle, was spilling forth. Impossibly, his uncle dropped down to sit on the bench next to the man, looking relaxed and comfortable.

Then there was a commotion behind him; a popcorn stand flipped over and three men and a woman shouted at one another. A hotdog flew and landed in a mustard splat on someone’s clean white shirt. When Will whipped his head back to the park bench, both his uncle and the man were gone.

He jogged over to the bench. There was something red on the back where the tall man’s shoulder blades would have rested. Jesus Christ it was blood.

Five hours later Harold picked him up in the BMW, classy and black and understated, for sushi. He looked relaxed and smiled like he always did, reserved and adoring.

****

**November 2nd**

****

It was difficult to engineer reasons to come back to New York, especially when he’d already told his uncle New York just wasn’t where he wanted to be. This time it was for a conference. A conference he had specifically and repeatedly requested be held in New York.  The great part was that there really was a conference, on ground water cleaning techniques using locally grown mushrooms, so there was no reason for uncle Harold to even think twice about any of it.

He knocked on the door to the brownstone. There was a long pause and Will imagined his uncle carefully pushing himself out of an overstuffed armchair and limping to the door. And then the pause lingered.

Will had called into Harold’s investment firm earlier, not sure if he should try there first, but the receptionist had told him in a matter-of-fact way that Harold was working from home for medical reasons for the rest of the week and did he want to leave a message? Will felt a pit form in his gut.  He stamped his feet. It wasn’t freezing yet, but November in New York was brisk and damp and the cab he’d taken to the address had long since disappeared. He knocked again. “Uncle Harold?”

There was a crash. Not a big one, just the sound of a lamp or book hitting the ground with a smack. Then a shuffle of feet very close to the entry way and the oak door swung open. Harold stood, backlit from the tasteful south facing french doors. He was dressed formally, pressed pants and a clean white dress shirt, but he looked far more broken-in than Will had ever seen him. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and his hair sticking up in tufts.

"Will?" His uncle was breathless and, Will noticed with some concern, holding onto the door jam for support.

"Uncle Harold," Will closed the gap and walked into the house before Harold could, as he invariably would, insist they go to dinner and pat him on the back and disappear. "Sorry to drop in on you, but I was in town for a conference and thought I'd see if you were home."

The house was just like he remembered. Tastefully decorated in a way that aged well. Never-lit candles lined a fireplace mantle and bland but high quality drapes lined the windows. Harold probably hadn't changed a thing in the last ten years. "It's always good to see you again, Will, but I really wasn't expecting you. Judy contacted me after you called into the office."

Will flushed. It was amazing how Harold managed to make him feel like a snooping kid. The light in the kitchen was on. Will flushed deeper. He really was a snoop. "Got anything to eat? I'm starved."

Harold wilted as much as his required posture would allow. He motioned Will inside and firmly shut the door behind him. "You're skin and bones, look at you. I've got some eggs and a tomato or two. Let's get an omelet going."

Will didn’t say anything about the dust covers on the sofas or the fact that the carton of eggs and three tomatoes, still in the brown paper bag from the grocers, were the only food in the house. He did ask about the dog.

“Oh, a friend is looking after him,” was all Harold said.

****

**December 23rd**

Will started a list.

_Harold had a big dog._

_The big dog stayed with his friend._

_Harold didn't live in his brownstone._

The wrapped package arrived on schedule. He never knew how Harold knew his location every Christmas but he suspected a nice intern at the aid organization’s head office was a little too eager to help out a kind uncle. The Christmas box was like clockwork. He was in Mongolia and the green and red package, complete with oversized velvet bow, was outside the yurt's door.

And, sure enough when he opened it two days later it was filled with individually wrapped chocolates and candy canes from a high end boutique in New York. Underneath it all, once the chocolates and candies were disbursed to the village, there was a tissue wrapped suit. A beautiful suit, complete with handmade shoes and silk boxers. A note was pinned to the black jacket. "For when you've saved the world. Merry Christmas, love uncle Harold."

Will folded the note and kept it in his passport.

He really hoped this guy with the dog was worth it.

****

**February 8th**

Alicia Corwin’s murder made its way back into the papers again as a local New York reporter started chasing down a vigilante nicknamed the “Man in the Suit.” His fingerprints were everywhere, the article said, a stolen attack dog, a hit and run, murders, a dozen shootings, drug busts, even the kidnapping of a judge's kid. The guy was bad business and he was everywhere in New York. And his fingerprints were all over Alicia Corwin's body. The police refused to comment but Will had to agree with the reporter. There was no way this Man in the Suit wasn't some sort of super villain.

His fingerprints were everywhere but apparently no one knew who he was. Someone had managed to delete his entire life from everywhere.

He rolled over and planted a kiss on Ellie’s nose. She blinked sleepily back at him. "Good morning."

She rolled her eyes. "The paper in your hands makes this a lot less romantic, just so you know." She got up and shrugged on a robe and slippers before padding the five feet to the kitchen in the studio apartment they were staying in for their weekend getaway between aid assignments. "How the hell did you even get a New York Times here anyway?" Paris looked out at them from the window.

“It’s 2013, Ellie, everywhere has the New York Times.” Both of them had spent too long in isolated places. Ellie was a Red Cross nurse and their paths crossed in rural China.

"Remember what I was saying about that woman and my dad's company?"

"The woman who was found dead, right?"

"Yeah. They're thinking she was killed by this Suit guy. The," Will blushed, "super villain."

Ellie snorted into her freshly poured cup of coffee. It was Maxwell House. She couldn't stand the good stuff and Will thought he might love her for that. "Seriously? And you think what, that this is connected to your dad somehow? Will, that's crazy."

He laughed. "Yeah I know."

Later, when Ellie was off walking the streets by the Seine, no doubt eating every chocolate croissant she found, Will fished out his cell phone and stared at it. He punched in a number.

"Universal Heritage Insurance, this is Judy speaking, how may I direct your call?" It was 4 o'clock in Paris. Will scrunched his face up and did some quick subtraction. Morning at some point.

"Um, yeah. Hi Judy. This is Will. Will Ingram."

"Good morning Will, or should I say good afternoon." Will blinked and Judy must have heard his confusion. "Sorry. Harold mentioned the other day that you were in Paris."

Will blinked again. "Oh, okay. Um, is my uncle around?"

"Sorry, dear. He's out of the office again today. I'm sure he'd love to hear from you, want me to patch you into his cell?" Will's heart started pumping.

"No, that's okay, I'll call back later." He hung up.

How the hell had Harold known he was in Paris? Even he and Ellie hadn't decided on Paris until two nights ago in a train station and running on 4 hours of sleep between them. They hadn’t told anyone about their vacation. There was no helpful intern to provide their information.

He threw out the New York Times before Ellie got back. He didn't tell her it arrived, slipped under the door, alone and unrequested.

Will memorized the last few lines of the article. "So be on the lookout for a well dressed man in a suit in New York, possibly with a well trained attack dog, thought by eye witnesses to be a german shepherd. Good luck New York and stay safe." Will pressed his eyes together. What had his uncle gotten himself into?

 

 **April 3rd** ****

****

He was in a ritzy hotel in Manhattan and his eyes were still red from the flight. He was trying to sleep and failing when his phone went off. It was seven in the morning and Will sat upright without hesitation. It was from an unknown number. "Hello?"

There was a long silence. "Hello, Will," a calm, deep voice said on the other end.

“Who is this?”

"Please meet your uncle in central park in half an hour.” There was a beep and the man hung up. Will’s hands were ice cold and tingling. What the hell was going on?

He stumbled out of bed and threw on a hoodie and a thick pair of jeans. He was in the elevator before he pulled his jacket on and only looked once to make sure the shoes on his feet matched.

He watched the numbers in the elevator descend. In so many ways Harold was more than an uncle. He’d almost been a second parent when his folks split up, and after his dad died it was Harold who sat him down with whiskey and kept him off the street for two days. Just because he didn’t see the man very often didn’t mean he wouldn’t do everything in his power to help him if he was in trouble. And Will had the very uncomfortable feeling that Harold was in deep, deep trouble.

The elevator clicked on ground floor and Will took off like a shot out onto the street. He bumped into a stocky man who shoved him off. "Hey, watch where you're going, kid!" He adjusted his coat and Will saw a gun peaking out of a shoulder holster. His face must have showed something because the guy said, "Relax, I'm a cop, okay."

Will grabbed his arm. "You're a cop? Great, you need to come with me."

The cop looked at him funny for a second and his face got stoney. "No, you know, I think that'd be a bad idea."

"What? No, seriously, come on!"

The cop sighed and Will wanted to punch him but there wasn't time. "Please, I think my uncle is in trouble."

"I'm going to regret this," he said, but he followed Will as he jogged the three blocks to central park. The man on the phone hadn't been very specific, but Harold had a favorite spot, not too far from the hotel Will was staying at, that he used to meet him and his dad at for lunch sometimes. And, back long enough ago, him and his dad and his mom.

And sure enough, Harold was sitting on the wrought iron park bench facing away from him.  Will would recognise his posture anywhere.

"Uncle Harold!"

His uncle turned stiffly. His right hand was wound around a dog leash, knuckles white, and the german sheppard from half a year ago stared up at him. He looked pale and a pale green bruise was fading off his cheek.

"Will? What are you doing here?"

Will stopped short. His sneakers, which really weren't warm enough for this weather but had been perfect for Sudan, leaked in slush from the path. Early april didn't hold snow, just the dirty snot and salt the winter left behind. "What do you mean? Some guy called me and told me to come and I thought..." What had he thought? The plainclothes cop he'd grabbed was trying unsuccessfully to blend into the background.

"Ah. Well, have a seat. It would seem my friend thought I could use some company." His uncle made eye contact with the cop and the cop, Will felt his jaw drop an inch, nodded once and walked away.

"Jesus uncle Harold, what the hell is going on?"

Harold smiled a tiny smile. It was the smile he wore at the funeral. "I can't tell you. You already know far more than you should. I just... I can't bring myself to do what I have to about it."

If this was a James Bond novel Will would have expected a "I could tell you, but I'd have to kill you," line next. But this wasn't James Bond, it was his uncle. His uncle with a horrible back injury working in boring insurance.

"What are you talking about. I just got off a ten hour flight and I'm wearing wet sneakers. Come on, uncle Harold. You've posted bail for me, whatever you're involved in, I'm sure there's a way to fix it."

A real smile slowly bloomed on Harold's face. "That girl you were seeing. Ellie. How's that going?"

Will blinked at the subject change. "We broke it off. It was just a fling, you know."

Harold nodded. "You are so young, Will. You have so much in front of you. Please don't look any further. Let it go."

"That's what Alicia Corwin said."

Harold nodded. "Yes.”

“So you did know her. Before...”

“Yes, I knew her. Before she was shot in the head in my car." Harold's voice shook and Will tried to remember if he'd ever seen him shaken before. Even when his dad died Harold had remained a beacon of stability. Then Will's own hands began to shake. She'd been murdered in his uncle's car. While he was there. “Now please don’t ask me anything else. It’s too dangerous and you should know I’m not exaggerating.”

“Uncle Harold...”

“It’s okay, Will. It is. But you need to go and save the world. I’ll handle saving New York.” Harold smiled the little smile again. “Go find that Ellie, Will. Get out of New York, I know you don’t want to be here.”

Will hugged his uncle and got on the next plane.

 

 **April 10th** ****

****

He called Ellie at the airport. They went back to Paris, this time for a full week and a half. She kissed him on the nose and when she went for walks on the Seine she brought back a chocolate croissant and the daily copy of the New York Times. It was poetic, Will thought. They made sense together.

"Will... Isn't this your uncle?"

Will turned from his laptop, but Ellie wasn't smiling. She was pale and there was sympathy written across her face. She squeezed in close to him on the bed, the Times, open to the obituaries, in her hands.

"Shit. Shit shit shit. No." His uncles face stared up at him in black and white. "Harold Wren, dies in his home." It was a nice obit, all things considered. Flattering towards his uncle's career and charities and mindful of his friendship to Will's dad. But it was impersonal and empty and when he looked up at Ellie he realized he was crying.

"It says he committed suicide, Will. I am so sorry." Ellie wrapped him in a hug and kissed his neck and didn't let go for a half hour.

Later he called the lawyers and the estate managers and the funeral home. Harold hadn't left much behind, just the brownstone and some stock. Will supposed that made sense. Harold did like to keep things simple and clean. The funeral home said he'd already been cremated per his will and instructions.

Will took a deep breath and let it out and walked back to the hotel where Ellie would be waiting for him.

Simple and clean.

He didn't ask the question. He let it go.

For now.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Feedback is love. :)


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